Gemini
by anoirak
Summary: When a box falls on Dipper's head full of old clothes labelled "Stanley Pines," can Grunkle Stan keep a secret for much longer? Dipper and Mabel start asking questions - where does Stan go at night? Why is the vending machine labelled "out of order?" so often? And who is Stanley Pines? Takes place post "Carpet Diem" and pre "Dreamscaperers." Based on the "Stan has a twin" theory.
1. Ley is Quite Different from Ford

**AN: Gravity Falls isn't mine. Just a little background information: the theory that this fic is based on is the theory that Stan had a twin named Stanley that went missing or died around July 4th, 1982. My personal belief is that Stanford, Stanley, and McGucket all worked on the universe portal together - McGucket warned the twins of how dangerous it was, took off around the beginning of July, and soon after, Stanley was sucked in and lost. There's a huge tumblr post explaining a lot more of it somewhere.**

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><p>The secret room over which many an uncanny battle had been fought over was mostly abandoned nowadays. It had lost its main attraction, the electron switching "Experiment 78" carpet, probably for the better. Now, it was Soos' break room, a cozy little place with a home-knitted blanket thrown over a dented couch. It also held scattered boxes in its closets, things from yesterday to yesterdecade. There was nothing overly interesting, just old clothes and other "sentimentally valuable useless junk." So, when hard-pressed for an indoor attraction, the twelve-year-old Pines twins found themselves the perfect distraction.<p>

When it rains in Gravity Falls, it pours, and pour it did. The sound of fat drops hitting the roof drove Mabel and Dipper out of the attic, clutching their ears and whining about not being able to go into the forest and find a unichaun or a leprecorn or whatever. Dipper had finally taken his nose out of his book, at Mabel's request, so they settled to bothering their great-uncle "Grunkle" Stan for a while. He always had something to do or something to look at - they wouldn't even be against sweeping the floors, as that led to a game of broom soccer with an improvised ball and more mess than before. To their disappointment (and relief) they found their grunkle suited up, standing in front of the mirror and adjusting his tie. He spun around, 8-ball cane in hand, to behold the tweens on a mission.

"Grunkle Stan, we're bored," Mabel groaned, slumping up against a chair. The heavy rain had knocked the TV's reception out, so she contented to stare at static for a while. Dipper, on the other hand, started out with the questions.

"Wait, why are you all dressed up?" He asked, looking up and down and Stan's suit. It was the typical look, dress shoes and pants, the only thing that was missing was the trademark fez.

"Because, Dipper," Stan said with a scowl, "Sometimes a man wants to dress up. It's a man thing. You wouldn't understand." Mabel gave an 'ooh' from the sidelines, grinning brackets and wires at Dipper. Dipper scowled at Stan in return.

"So you're going to lounge around the Shack in your itchy, uncomfortable suit jacket and pants, and what, do paperwork?" He questioned in disbelief. Instead of retorting again, Grunkle Stan merely gave Dipper the "don't sass me kid" look before slipping out of the room. It took Dipper five minutes of investigating to realize that the heavy rain had shut the local roads down (danger of mudslides - Oregon officials were policing highways and Stan wanted nothing to do with police that weren't the incompetent Blubs and Durland) and that there were definitely no tourists coming around. Dipper took a seat on the floor in front of the large chair and let his mind wonder. The only mysterious part of the Mystery Shack was how Grunkle Stan managed to trick all those tourists. Maybe that's what he did in his spare time, think of new and ridiculous ways to earn money? He sighed and looked around the empty dining room that was connected to the living room. It felt a little lonely, not having even Wendy or Soos here. Mabel was making weird noises with her tongue before jumping up and yelling, "I've got it!", knocking Dipper out of his reverie.

"We'll go on a house adventure!" She exclaimed, proud of her idea. Dipper considered it for a moment.

"I dunno, Mabel, we've explored almost every nook and cranny of this house and not much interesting has been there. I'm pretty sure Grunkle Stan took anything remotely interesting and stuck it where the tourists could see," he said. Sure enough, their first week had been spent exploring the different rooms in between chores. Mabel only grinned in response to Dipper's statement.

"Yeah, but what room haven't we explored yet?" Dipper's mind took a virtual tour of the Mystery Shack, going through the attic, the gift shop, past the vending machine, all the way to -

"Soos' break room?" Dipper asked incredulously.

"Ding ding ding!" Mabel shouted. "Waddles, give the boy a prize!" Upon hearing his name, Waddles' head picked up from his nap and he gave a little snuffle. "Oh, sorry, Waddles, I didn't know you were napping," she dropped her voice to a whisper. With a small smile at his sister's quirky antics and an eye roll, Dipper was off to Soos' break room, previously the room that they had fought so fiercely over, with Mabel trailing quickly behind. She was singing, "Adventure, adventure, rainy day adventure..."

They walked down the hallway together, reaching the newly-discovered door in no time. Dipper opened it a creak just to make sure it was empty, then swung the door open. It was very anticlimactic in his opinion, just an ugly blanket and some corn chip bags. Mabel, on the other hand, was drawn to the new couch, dropping herself into the middle dent with an 'oof.' Dipper looked at the old calendar, dated 1982, before shrugging and looking in other places, other closets. Most of the junk was unexciting. There were tons and tons of textbooks, from astrophysics to meteorology. None of them, as it was with most things in the Shack, were in date. Dipper also found a few dozen cans of apocalypse meat, and what, at first glance, seemed to look like gold, was really a pebble spray painted gold. It still had grey splotches on it in some places. Something caught Dippers' eye. It was on the bottom shelf, so he got on his hands and knees to reach it. Once he realized it was nothing but a bit on sunlight, he abruptly stood up, his head stopped by a sturdy wood shelf. He yelped as a large cardboard box came crashing down. Mabel stopped her jumping to quickly go to her wounded brother's side.

"Dipper!" She hollered. "Are you alright?" Dipper's response was muffled by a large pile of clothes that had fallen on top of him, their box to the side. Mabel giggled, before helping him out.

"Hey, I don't think I've seen these before," he said slowly, holding up a dark grey, fitted tee-shirt. Next in the pile was a dark suit coat. "This one I sure have."

"Hey, there's some writing on the tag!" Mabel pointed. Dipper checked the tag near the neck - blank. "No, silly, the one inside!" Sure enough, written on a small piece of cotton sewn into the coat, was a name.

"Stanley Pines?" Dipper asked. "I thought Grunkle Stan's name was Stanford, not Stanley." He laid extra emphasis on the last syllables of the names, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Y'know, I don't even think this is Grunkle Stan's handwriting,"

"He could have forged it," Mabel suggested. "But why would he forge something so obviously his?"

"If it wasn't forged," Dipper said slowly, still thinking. "Let's see if anymore of this stuff belongs to-" he put air quotes around the name, "Stanley Pines."

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><p>MLOUS CZFTF SMEIX PQ<p>

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><p>The underground laboratory wasn't Stan's. "Well, it belonged to a Stan," he thought darkly, "Just not this one." The point remained - the place that had become Stanford Pines' real workspace, with its immense portal and large monitors, may have been his on the deed (no, according to the deed and all the floor plans it didn't exist), but it sure as hell wasn't his in spirit. He shuddered every time he walked down the stairs and caught his reflection in a grimy window or shining monitor because it looked too much like someone else. The antisocial bookworm hadn't been down here in thirty years, and yet, it still smelled like his crappy coffee and the rancid petroleum McGucket used to operate the portal, back in the day. Stan dropped his eight-ball cane next to one of the three desks, the least dusty and most recently used.<p>

There were two other desks - both in different states of disarray. The first desk had been cleared off, leaving only a nameplate covered in thick, grey, dust. 'F. MCGUCKET' it read, because the doctor was afraid of anyone else taking it. A few nuts and bolts lay in its crevices and cracks, left there by a man who delivered statistics of failure and bolted off to create some new and useless invention. They had wanted him to come back, because the man was a genius, but nevertheless, he had become a mind-zapping nut job.

The second hadn't even been looked at for a while, because Stan couldn't bring himself too. If it weren't for the copious amounts of dust and the rust on the metal spinning chair, one would have thought the owner was returning to their place with a replacement cup of coffee and working on some equations. A sheet of paper with messy handwriting had been stopped mid-sentence. As his mind wandered towards the past, Stan found it easier to look at the desk. The paper was dated July 4th, 1982. He didn't need to look at the top see that, and he definitely didn't need to look at the top to know the name.

Stanley Pines.

He said the name under his breath with a sigh of mixed frustration and melancholy, the memories becoming too painful to look any longer. Stan shook his head to clear it of all the thoughts of the past, and dove straight into his work. He may not have been the brains of his groups of friends, but that in no way made him an idiot. Collecting readings and comparing it to the experimental data of so long ago, the hours were spent without him realizing what time it was. After a while of being slouched forwards, Stan stretched, his hands reached towards the sky. His eyes looked up at the picture of his twin great-nephew and great-niece.

He swore. "They're up to no good, I bet."

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><p><strong>AN: Too short?<strong>


	2. Gravity Falls' Special Ops: Case 618

"I think this is the last one." Soos' break room had quickly become a whirlwind of _stuff_, carelessly thrown into a few piles: things that had 'Stanley' on them, things that had either 'Stan' or 'Pines' on them, things that had no identifying features, and things that Dipper and Mabel thought were cool. They had reached the bottom of the last box, in the last dresser, and Dipper had to say he was a little disappointed with how little things he found about Stanley Pines, whoever he was. At least they had figured out that Stanley Pines wasn't just someone Grunkle Stan had created for profit, maybe to aid in his tax fraud. 'It was a reasonable assumption,' he thought.

"In the Stanley pile, we have two grey tee-shirts, a suit coat, two meteorology textbooks, one astrophysics textbook, and-" Dipper's list of inventory was interrupted by Mabel triumphantly lifting the last object above her head and yelling,

"One notebook!" She was eagerly flipping through the worn pages, where some words and paragraphs had been faded to a light grey that would have been invisible in any less light. Dipper was eager to take it up to the attic and look at it in a closer light. He knew, without a doubt, that the notebook would clue them in into who Stanley Pines was. Mabel, however, was interested with the second handwriting, that she thought was similar to the little comments she left when Dipper wrote his journals.

Ever since Dipper had realized that Gravity Falls was something else, he had kept his own journal. For instance, when he had done some research on the giant tooth that had showed up on Lake Gravity Falls' beach, he had done most of the summary of the beast and Mabel had contributed the picture (and stickers). She had also left a little note underneath Dipper's entry, in pink handwriting, saying, "Friends with the Gobblewonker?" Dipper didn't mind that much, so long as it didn't distract from the most interesting part of the page.

Maybe he was a little inspired by the Author, a little in awe - when he met the author, he could always say, "Wow, I've even kept my own journals, would you like to read them?" And then the author would say, "Sure thing! Dipper Pines, these are some of the most in-depth and interesting journals I've ever read." And then they would probably go on cool adventures and -

Dipper cleared his throat, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "Mabel, you said there was a second handwriting, right?" Mabel nodded, showing Dipper a page where the handwriting was most prominent. Sure enough, in a corner where the messy print hadn't been put down, there was a cursive note. Dipper squinted at it. Reading and writing cursive had never been one of his strengths. Mabel, on the other hand...

"Hey nerd, keep dreaming if you think these books are gonna get you a girl," she read out loud, and Dipper looked up suddenly. "No, I think he's writing about a different nerd, not you, Dipper," Mabel smiled. Dipper frowned but looked at the handwriting again.

"A handwriting analysis would be good. I might have to do that tomorrow, though." He looked at the textbooks afterwards. The print date on them was late seventies, early eighties. The old books had been taken care of, to have lasted this long, but the margins had notes in heavy shorthand that Dipper wanted to decode. With his luck, however, he knew it would be in code as well as the strange, sloppy symbols. He looked up from the small pile and his eyes widened as he saw the mess.

"Mabel, we're gonna have to pick this up," he groaned, and Mabel said 'ew' in response. Shoving the Stanley pile into a different corner, Dipper and Mabel started piling things at random into boxes and onto shelves. Before they knew it, the only pile of junk in the room was the pile of junk that had been purposefully left there. Dipper took the moment to look out the window. The rain was still coming down strong, and showed no signs of stopping. He and Mabel were on the fence - on one hand, another rain day would provide them more time to work on the new mystery that had presented itself. On the other hand, they missed Soos and Wendy, who might even been able to help them out, having lived in Gravity Falls all their lives.

"Hey Dipper?" Mabel asked. "D'you think we should ask Grunkle Stan about Stanley Pines?" Dipper thought for a moment.

"I'd say we should get some more information about this Stanley Pines before asking him. It could be something huge, like a massive family secret that no one wants to talk about," he shuddered. If there was one thing he hated, it was family feuds and secrets. It just led to nothing good. The twins had made up their mind - Operation Stanley would be a covert one, only involving outsiders when it was absolutely. The first problem with this decision was getting their project up into the attic without Stan noticing.

"Mabel, you're in charge of looking around and seeing if Stan's watching TV or doing paperwork in his office," Dipper said, and Mabel frowned.

"Why don't you do it?" She argued, clutching textbooks to her sweater like a lifeline. Dipper sighed.

"He likes you better, probably, and so it'll be easier to get away with it." Mabel began to argue with his statement, but saw the melancholy look on his face, and decided to just go with it. She'd try later to make him believe otherwise, but for now, she handed her brother the books and dashed out the door. Stealthily travelling down the shack's hallways, she stuck her head into the living room, where the large yellow armchair was empty. The kitchen proved to be the same, and then came the final test - Grunkle Stan's office. The door was shut, and Mabel pressed her ear precariously against the wooden door, hoping for cheap, easy-to-hear-through wood so she could know if Stan was inside. There seemed to be no sound coming through, so she opened the door a crack. A breath she didn't know she was holding was released as she saw the empty office, and then Mabel dashed back to Soos' break room.

"All clear!" She announced to Dipper, who had textbooks and clothing in his arms. Mabel gathered the last of the pile, most importantly, the notebook. They walked through the Shack, quickly and quietly running up the attic stairs to their own bedroom.

"We could put it under my bed," Dipper said as Mabel shut the door behind her, and Mabel gagged in response. "Alright, how about the closet? The one furthest from the door." Dipper had become uncomfortably accustomed to the closet, as it was the ones that his clones had locked him in earlier in the summer. Mabel nodded in agreement, and the twins placed everything they had gathered from downstairs into a plain cardboard box.

Just as they had stuffed the evidence in their closet, they heard Stan's footsteps coming up the stairs. "Quick!" Dipper hissed, and they played natural, or tried. Dipper opened up one of his dog-eared mystery novels, and Mabel took up a half-knitted sweater. There was a knock, and the two yelled "Come in!" in an anxious unison.

Grunkle Stan walked in, looking at the seemingly peaceful scene before him. "So, you kids are enjoying your day off?" Two cheerful nods. "Good, because it won't last. It's back to work tomorrow, rain or shine." Two sober nods. Stan looked around the room, seemingly satisfied with their activities. Mabel and Dipper released their breath as he started to close the door, but then quickly stiffened as he opened it up again.

"Why are you two playing _in the dark_?" The question was more of a rhetorical snide remark, Dipper thought as the sound of footsteps descending were heard, than a way of telling us he knows we're up to something. So he hoped.

MBZQO MGEVT ANGCX NCGTH COBMM OC

What, did the kids think he was an idiot? Stanford Pines had not been alive for this long to be taken for an idiot. Yeah, maybe it had been McGucket and Stanley who did most of the mathematical work while he had done a lot of the mechanical (how do you think the exhibits stood for so long?), but that didn't mean that Stan couldn't see when they were sneaking around. 'Then again,' he thought, easing back into his chair and taking a break from the finances sheet in front of him, 'I'm not exactly innocent from that, either.' Stan still couldn't believe they hadn't found the vending machine door before. So long as he kept on stocking it with snacks and occasionally sticking an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the glass, he hoped it would stay the same way.

Stan's eyes wandered to the pair of old glasses that had been laid precariously on his desk, and sighed at the irony. He had almost let himself forget about Stanley's room, had moved to the attic and had forgotten about the things he had left behind. The Mystery Shack (previously known as 'Stanley's house') had secrets that only one person had known about, and that person was gone. Long gone, thirty years gone. Of course the twins would find out about Stanley, he wasn't that good at keeping secrets. How Dipper and Mabel knew so much about the mysteries of Gravity Falls still eluded him. There was one explanation, that they had miraculously discovered, along with Stanley's old books, his third journal. Stan laughed that one off. His brother wouldn't have been stupid enough to put all of his research in such a mundane place. Hell, the man hadn't even told his own blood where he left them, which sobered Stan up pretty quick.

Maybe he'd let the kids play around with his old stuff, inspire 'the spirit of learning' in them. Worst case scenario, he'd tell them Stanley Pines was someone he created to elude the police in a fraud case. They'd believe that.

'No, they won't,' a voice nagged him in the back of his head. Stan scowled. He didn't know if it was his own imagination, or if all this upheaval of old memories was getting to him.


	3. The Things They Try to Forget

**AN: Wow, an update! Partially influenced by the fact that this small fic born of insomnia got RECCED! Woo! We're going places!**

_Stanley Pines was having a good day. He had woken up early, but not too early as to make him tired. Early enough so that he could be productive. He had eaten breakfast, for the first time in ages (eggs! meat! food!), finished a lab report on a strange creature he had found in the woods and documented it in his journal, and -_

There was a crash from the kitchen where Stanford and Fiddleford were trying to cook their dinner, the keyword being _trying_. Stanford had no patience, and Fiddleford was still a little terrified of his twin, so Stanley was almost one-hundred-percent positive that something was either going to be set on fire, broken, or he'd wake up tomorrow with no breakfast because all of their milk, eggs, and other various things that they kept in the refrigerator had spoiled because someone had forgotten to put them back. Putting his pen down and deciding that he was done writing for the day, he leaned back in his chair, close enough to the door to hear the conversation that was going on just a few doors down.

"-hand me that spatula, will ya? And stop quaking, you're going to drop that cup."

"I'm trying! It's probably lack of blood sugar, since we haven't eaten in so long!"

Stanley grinned at Fiddleford's retort. The two were becoming closer by the minute. Their banter was interrupted by the sound of glass falling to the floor. Stanford groaned very loudly, and Fiddleford apologized. 

"Don't make him apologize, Stanford," Stanley called through the door, hand cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound. "You aren't that coordinated either. Tell me, where are your glasses again?" As he mentioned his glasses, Stanley took his off and started to clean them against his dark tee-shirt. He stood up and started to clean up his desk, taking a peek out of the window that showed the western horizon perfectly. The sun was just setting, late as it did in the summer, and the hues of red and yellow and orange made Stanley squint and add a bit of glare to his glasses. A second shadow in the room took Stanley's attention from the outdoors that held so much mystery to the figure in the doorway.

Stanford Pines, slicked back hair and scruff that gave off an air of charming laziness (don't let that fool you - Stanley knew that said scruff was maintained daily and worked on for a good fifteen minutes alone in the morning), was blocking the way and glaring daggers. "Alright, Mister 'I'll just lock myself in this room while I let this chaos happen and only interject to get a sarcastic edge in'-"

"That's a very long name I have, Stanford, I don't know how you how you remember it," Stanley interrupted, only proving his twin right. With a huff and a curse mumbled under his breath, the two walked together to the kitchen when Fiddleford had finished up the dish. It was plated and placed on a tablecloth - "We have a tablecloth?" Stanley asked, and Stanford elbowed him quiet - with Fiddleford trying desperately to open a bottle of wine. Stanley sat down and Stanford popped the cork easily, placing it on the table.

"Uh, anniversary," Stanley guessed, marveling at the roast that had been made, as well as a side of mashed potatoes and the green beans. "Happy birthday?" He was never one for dates, luck for him had only had to know one birthday. Fiddleford only smiled excitedly, smoothing his suit down and pouring wine.

"Not quite, Stanley," his hands were shaking as he poured the rich crimson into the clear glasses, which Stanley assumed what had been dropped before. He sat down and pushed up his glasses, and took a shaky breath in.

"Spit it out, Fiddleford," Stanford said, with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "By the way, these potatoes are decent." High praise.

"Gentlemen, I - thanks?" He paused at the sudden compliment, before straightening himself out again. "Gentlemen, I presume that you both remember the statistics I showed you earlier. About Experiment Alpha. About the… failing rate of the Universe Portal."

"We all know those stats are bull, Fiddleford. The portal is completely safe, the calculations assume constant use. We've turned it on, what, three times?" Stanley said, then added, "I appreciate your concern, but look, it's fine. This Universe Portal is the greatest thing that has happened to any of us."

"I'll tell that to your wife," Stanford murmured, and it was Stanley's turn to glare. Stanford returned with a 'what are you gonna do about it look,' and Stanley turned back to Fiddleford.

"I don't want to be responsible for any one of your deaths," Fiddleford said, "And all the facts point to that happening. I need to be blunt at this point, Pines." He hadn't sat down, and this was the first time that Stanley realized that there were two plates set at the table, not three. "And I have a wife, and a kid, Stanley, you have a wife, and a kid!"

"The world'll be a better place for him to grow up in, McGucket," Stanley stood up and slammed his hands on the table. "You think I'm sitting around and documenting by the minute for myself, man? Stanford, tell _Professor_," Acid dripped from this title, "Fiddleford McGucket here what I mean."

"Stanford, please, tell your brother to stop," Fiddleford begged. "Your nephew, Stanford." But no response came from his side of the table. Stanford just sloshed the wine in his glass, staring down into it, seemingly not hearing anything. McGucket exhaled, and then picked up his briefcase that had been sitting next to him. "I'm sorry it had to end this way, Stanley," he said.

"Get. Out." Stanley said, pointing at the door. Fiddleford took no time in exiting their house, the door shutting quietly behind him. He pushed away the plate that laid on the table, groaning and looking over at his brother. "We don't need him. We can finish this like we started it - the two of us."

Stanford looked at the defeated figure in front of him. "You're an ass, Stanley." Stanley sat up suddenly at this saying. "You have a wife and a kid. Fiddleford was right, you need to stop. You don't think other people would die for what you have - a nice home, a family, a college degree, a life of success behind you. Here you are, ready to throw it all away. I gotta say it Stanley," he finished, standing up, wineglass still in hand, "You're an ass." He drained the cup of its blood red drink and left the dirty dish on the table. "Mazel tov," he said sarcastically, walking out of the kitchen, mostly to himself.

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><p>VWDQV UHJUHW FRPLQJ VRRQ WZR D WKHDWUH QHDU BRX<p>

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><p>"Poke!"<p>

"Mabel, stop that."

"Poke! Hehe, I call this game 'Poke the Grunkle.'"

"Mabel, that's not a game, that's just you poking Grunkle Stan - wait, he's waking up!" The sound of the twins' voices shocked him back to reality. Two faces came into focus before him, one worried and one grinning at him.

"See Dipper, nothing to worry about! Stan's always fine." He was sitting in the yellow armchair that had become the center of family gatherings, and the two kids had gathered up on either side of him. Dipper had a worried look on his face.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine," He waved it off, looking at the two kids that were staring at him. "Whadda you two brats want?"

"Grunkle Stan, what's for dinner?" Dipper asked, climbing off the chair and crossing his arms. "We tried to wake you up, like, an hour ago, to see if we could go out. You were really out of it."

"Yeah," Mabel laughed, "Dipper was really worried. He was Mister 'I'll just lock myself in this room and let the chaos happen and only interject to get a sarcastic edge in." Stan's eyes widened as he heard this, and he played with his hearing aid a little bit. She couldn't have said that.

"Repeat that, kid," he said, and Mabel turned to him.

"What, that Dipper was Mister 'Mabel what are we going to if Grunkle Stan has been possessed by a-" She shut her mouth as she realised what was coming out of it. "He was being good ol' paranoid Dipper!" She concluded with a friendly punch to Dipper's arm and a wide smile.

"So, dinner, right?" Dipper awkwardly changed the subject. Stan looked out into the kitchen, in the same layout that it was thirty years ago. He shuddered at the thought of entering that kitchen for a while.

"Yeah, we'll go out. Special treat for…" He racked his mind for some holiday to have an excuse to take the kids out.

"It's okay, Grunkle Stan," Mabel said, patting his arm. "You don't need an excuse to buy us food."

"Yeah, it's kind of your responsibility, as our guardian," Dipper shrugged. "Besides, I know Mabel is dying for strawberry pancakes." He smiled at his sister.

"And Dipper wants to try the manliness test again," Mabel said. "Maybe he'll win this time!" Dipper laughed a little, at ease with his sister's teasing.

"This feels like psychic stuff," Grunkle Stan narrowed his eyes. "Are you guys, like, reading each other's minds? Have you been visiting Gideon in prison?"

Mabel gagged, and Dipper made a face at the thought of the juvenile delinquent. "Nah, Grunkle Stan, it's just a twin thing. You wouldn't understand!" Mabel explained in her serious voice, then ran off to get her shoes. "Good thing they serve breakfast all day at Greasy's Diner!" Dipper followed soon after.

Stanford stood up to go put on some pants. "A twin thing," he said darkly. "Mazel tov."

**Reviews always appreciated - too short? Is my grammar terrible? Run on sentences? Probably.**


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